Traitor’s Knot: Fourth Book of The Alliance of Light

Sulfin Evend choked on his tea.

Brilliant as mercury lit by a spark, the Sorcerer’s eyes sharpened. He passed a cloth napkin, and added, contrite, ‘Did you not come here to inquire on that subject?’

After a cough to clear his closed throat, Sulfin Evend admitted, ‘I had expected to broach the matter with Sethvir.’

Asandir savoured his tea, frowned a moment, then hooked back the honey for more sweetening. ‘Sethvir has a scar as long as your arm that was left by a necromancer’s knife. His patience is short where their works are concerned. For myself, I’ve spent too many years in the field to waste undue time over niceties. Will you hear my straight warning? The faction you’ve roused is unspeakably dangerous. Leave Tysan. Travel under my ward of protection, live your life, and never turn back.’

Despite gnawing doubt, Sulfin Evend held firm. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Then make no mistake. Your brash bravery is not wisdom!’ When Lysaer’s officer withstood that sharp censure, the Sorcerer broke off, grasped the cheese knife, and began to slice bread.

‘I made a promise to Enithen Tuer,’ Sulfin Evend revealed at due length. ‘Would you send me off with a meal and no hearing?’

Asandir pinned his guest with steel eyes. ‘You might as well eat. The dangers you’re bound and determined to face aren’t going to forgive any weakness. Your nerves falter now? Then rethink your position. The works of the death cults are by lengths more ugly than the unfounded whispers you’ve heard concerning our Fellowship.’

That said, the Sorcerer folded a chunk of cheese into the bread, took a bite, then shoved the filled plate toward the opposite edge of the tray. ‘I know how it feels to spend months on the road. Don’t try to pretend you’re not hungry’

Thereafter, the Sorcerer tucked into his meal. He did not look up. Nor would he respond to polite conversation. Sulfin Evend was left watching. Need triumphed, eventually. Soon after, the tray was emptied of food, and the bread loaf, demolished to crumbs.

‘That’s better.’ Asandir stretched and arose. He fetched goblets and a decanter of cider from a carved hutch, then served himself and Sulfin Evend.

As the cut crystal-glass was placed before him, the Hanshireman bridled. ‘Do you think me a fool? I did not journey here to have my tongue loosened with drink!’

The Sorcerer regarded the pale amber liquid, unoffended. ‘Sethvir does brew strong spirits when the mood takes him.’ He sampled the cider, then looked up, brightened to an incongruous spark of hilarity. ‘What threat from me are you guarding against, Sulfin Evend idna cou’wid en tavrie s’Gannley?’

A son brought up by the Mayor of Havish had the schooling to translate the Paravian, which meant, ‘fourth-born who denies a Named heritage.’ ‘I won’t let you bait me,’ Sulfin Evend replied.

Asandir settled back, looking suddenly worn. ‘By all means, have things your way. I merely hoped a difficult discussion would go easier if you were not saddle worn, or strung-wire taut with distrust. As I’ve taken delicate steps to point out, I am not your judge. Nor am I your misguided master’s executioner! I will not support pretence. If you won’t hear my counsel, why else are you here?’

Evasion was not possible. ‘I made a vow to Enithen Tuer that I would swear a blood oath under Fellowship auspices.’

‘That requires my consent.’ Asandir spun the crystal between his deft fingers. ‘A caithdein’s invocation binds a tie to the land. Do you understand fully? You are asking my sanction to stand moral ground as a high king’s conscience, and the s’Ilessid you serve is most vilely cursed. The Mistwraith’s set geas is what drives his war against Rathain’s lawful